Convalescent's Return
by meterological butterfly
Summary: Dr. Turner and Sister Bernadette encounter each other again after she has returned from the sanatorium. Written before the episode aired so now a slight departure from canon.


They are running late for cubs, as usual it is his fault. He does not even have the excuse of a patient to give Timothy. In truth he lost track of time in a daydream triggered by Sister Julienne's news: they are expecting Sister Bernadette home from the sanatorium some time this week. In all honesty he is still distracted now, even whilst walking with Timothy. It is Timothy who spots her ahead of them, walking towards them, down from Nonnatus House.

"Sister Bernadette!" Timothy is running at the nun, now out of the habit. He throws himself at her, Dr Turner sharply inhales expecting them both to fall with the so recently recovered sister underneath. Somehow she withstands it, hugging Timothy back fiercely.

"Hello, Timothy," Her words are more reserved than her actions. She glances at the doctor then quickly down at Timothy again.

"Did you forget your habit at the sanatorium, Sister? I like your hair. I had mine cut," Timothy says her exuberantly.

"You look very smart," She tells him, smoothing his hair back into place after his headlong charge, never before has Dr. Turner felt jealous of his son. She completely ignores Timothy's initial question, which Dr. Turner would quite like to hear her answer too. He hopes that Timothy, usually a very persistent interrogator, will challenge her on it but he has evidently realised that the likelihood of a sane woman forgetting her clothes and going outside in November possibly is not terribly great, or perhaps he is just not particularly interested in women's attire. Either way, Timothy is moving on to more important matters and Dr. Turner can only scrape for a way to phrase the question himself.

"Did you get a diagnosis for my butterfly, Sister?" It had never occurred to him that his refusal to conduct a butterfly post-mortem might result in Timothy sending _her _the butterfly. No wonder she had not replied to his letters; even if, by some miracle, she abandoned her calling to marry a man and bear his children it would surely not be a man who brought up children to send young ladies dead butterflies who would be so lucky. He is about to step forward to say something, anything, he doesn't know what, to apologise somehow when he realises she is smiling.

"I'm sorry, Timothy, there wasn't a doctor with a combined speciality including lepidopterology at the sanatorium, I think they must be very rare. Perhaps you'll have to be the first. One of the gardeners did say it was very large for a cabbage white so, perhaps, old age?"

"Lepidopterology," Timothy tries out the word. He copies her exactly so the syllables are singsonged up and down in a manner too innocent to be mocking.

"Butterflies," She clarifies, "and moths."

"If I do become a famous lepidopterology doctor, you can be my nurse and sterilise all my instruments if you like." Timothy tells her generously, his joy at a new word overflowing. Suddenly Dr. Turner feels almost guilty for never telling Timothy that the study of the words he loves so much is etymology.

Fred's whistle sounds in the distance, he had probably been yelling at his charges for a good fifteen minutes now. Timothy has heard the whistle too.

"I have to go to rehearsal now, Sister Bernadette," He tells her, "They're making me play the girl _again_."

"That's probably because roles of the opposite gender are the hardest to play so Akela has to use his most accomplished actor," She really is a natural, she has just effortlessly gotten the answer right, Timothy is beaming. Last night, faced with the same complaint, he had told Timothy he had made a fantastic Maid Marian. Timothy had refused to talk to him until bedtime and had not even pretended to tolerate his cooking, and even he could not get eggs on toast _that_ wrong.

Now Timothy is running off to cubs, leaving him with her and he does not know what to say.

"Greetings, Doctor," She whispers. She is looking at his jumper, not his face. He _has_ to speak.

"Sister Bernadette, I'm so sorry," The words tumble out, "I shouldn't have written what I did to you, I said too much. I should never have said what I did, it was truly unforgivable. It will never happen again." For a moment he prays she will again tell him that unforgivable is solely the prerogative of the God that he does not truly believe in, but she is silent. Her eyes look up to stare into his but only for a second and he can't read them, then she looks back down. Staring at the jumper he would not have worn and the tie he would have put far more effort into picking had he known he would see her.

She is silent, mesmerized by the blue and green that apparently his mother-in-law has told Timothy should never be seen without a colour in between. He silently beseeches her to raise her eyes.

"I'm sorry," He tells her hopelessly, then has to turn away.

Then he feels it. She has grabbed his hand, stopping him from leaving. He turns back to her. She is staring up at him, her eyes begging him to understand something she cannot say. And then the world stops. She is raising his hand to her lips, kissing his fingertips, his fingers. He can feel her say something against them but it is too quiet to hear. She is kissing his palm.

"Please, Doctor," He hears it this time, "_please_."

She is begging him and he doesn't understand, can't comprehend. He takes his hand from her lips and clasp and tilts her chin up, leaving his hand beneath her chin. Her lips are trembling, he looks into her eyes and finds they are brimming with tears.

"I had to know before I could tell you. I tried to reply but...please...I haven't the language, I can't...please," And now she is crying, truly crying. Nothing can stop him from pulling her into his arms and she presses her tears into his jumper.

"I'm sorry I don't have more strength," She whispers into his chest. He doesn't know what she means, she is the strongest woman he knows. The words come out of his mouth before his brain knows anything about it.

"Please, Sister, let me love you. I promise I'll be strong enough for both of us." She looks up, eyes full of unshed tears and her lips part but no words come out. She nods, a small, minute, fractional movement that changes his life. He leans down slowly and gently caresses her lips with his, she responds to him and he deepens the kiss, he hands on his shoulders. She pulls away slightly so their lips are apart, looking into his eyes.

"Thank you for still wanting me," Suddenly her arms are around his neck and she is on tip-toes, her body now flush against his, kissing him passionately.


End file.
